


Doki Doki LARP Club

by TooDumbToDie



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Bed sharing since I love tropes, Drinking, Homoeroticism, M/M, Miseryfest but there will be a good ending, Nazi is an asshole, Porn but it's a major plot point, They go camping and LARPing, Thighfucking, more porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooDumbToDie/pseuds/TooDumbToDie
Summary: Nazi realises that moving to a new town that he needs to stop being a terminally online incel and decides to join a LARP club...[Despite what the title indicates, this won't devolve into horror. I just had no other idea what to name it]
Relationships: Communist/White Identitarian | Nazi (Centricide), authleft/authright, authunity, nazi/commie
Comments: 72
Kudos: 95





	1. Cups of coffee - Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I only post my massive multi-chapter monoliths when I've finished the whole thing but I am posting this chapter now to assert dominance over Centricide 8 which will be coming out very very soon.

I had scoured Facebook and Instagram for this group. I needed to join a new LARP group after moving to a different town and transferring colleges. Far better than being terminally online, now all I have to do is join a gym, get a job, get a white virgin girlfriend and then my life is set.  
  
But here I am, standing on the side of the road in the dark in front of a church. I check my phone. Two minutes have passed and no notifications from the club's groupchat. 

A scraggly stinking man in a suit bumbles past me, up the path which is parallel with the car park and into a small hall off the side of the church. Lights glow from it’s interior and the door swings open as the scruffy man steps inside. But still, I am too anxious to walk up the path and into the hall.

I let a few minutes pass, the cold night air stinging at my face as I watch cars pass. And then finally, I manage to override my anxiety. My hands retreat into my hands into the pockets of my slacks and make my way down the path.

I open the door and step in.  
“Is this the historical reenactment club?” I drawl, my false charisma switched on. Anything just to get people to at least tolerate me.  
  
I quickly glance around the hall. Inside are two rectangular tables arranged in a square, various scout posters cover the wall and three other guys are sitting around this table. And they’re staring at me.

The first man is the guy I saw earlier outside of the church, now in the light, I realise that his pupils are dilated and he has a bad Charles Manson style Sonnenrad tattoo on his forehead. The second man is Latino, curly-haired and with a babyface. I cringe a bit. He looks like he’s 15.  
And the third man is dressed in an ushanka, turtleneck, and a heavy coat.  
  
“Yes. Ve are the historical reenactment club.”  
  
His cold eyes scan me. Like a scorching Xray but I stare him down. I refuse to let myself look weak. I am not a beta weakling and I refuse to be seen as one.  
And in this moment, I decide I hate him. I hate him and his stupid Slavic accent.

Once I sit down at the table, they quickly introduce themselves.  
“I am Joseph. I founded and run this club.”  
  
“My name’s Jonas. I’m a Posadist by the way.” says the baby faced man and he laughs. It’s unnerving and I feel my skin crawl.

The man with the forehead tattoo doesn’t say anything, he just stares, his eyes dead at a spot that none of us can see. The rest of the group looks at him, waiting for him to speak but he predictably says nothing.  
  
“That is Ezekial. Do not mind him, comrade. He is harmless.”

I involuntarily cringe. Drugs are degenerate but yet this hypocritical piece of shit has the Black Sun on his forehead. He is participating in the societal rot and decay that he probably claims to oppose.  
“There is nothing harmless about a junkie. But I’m James and I’m a white identitarian.”

“So a Nazi?” and he grunts disapprovingly, his cold eyes back on me.  
  
“I’m not a Nazi. I’m a White Identitarian and a Social Darwinist."

“It’s okay to be a Nazi,” interjects EsoFash. Even though he speaks, he's still not physically with us. His voice is monotone, lifeless and tainted with an Italian accent while he keeps staring at hallucinations that none of us can see.  
  
“Oh shut up, please. I’m not a Nazi.” but the junkie says nothing in response. My voice probably lost and drowned out by the audio hallucinations or something. Or maybe he just doesn't care and thinks he's fucking better than me. Which he isn't. Because at least I'm actually white. 

My one shot at finally making friends and having a social group fucking blown by some junkie who won’t keep his mouth shut. I give them all a sickly sweet pained smile. I should have never mentioned my politics. I should have stayed mask-on. 

They just keep looking at me and my tight-lipped smile, none of them saying anything. Maybe actually having a conscious fascist is too much for the soyboy communists to handle. They’re all fucking snowflakes and I hate them for that. I absolutely despise them for their weakness, especially Joseph. Joseph. 

And I tried to shoot my shot and I missed. I desperately needed friends and interaction. And no matter how many people I talk to on Discord or play COD with, it’s not an alternative to meaningful interaction. It's just a bandaid over my problems where I feel good for a few hours. And then the temporary relief is over and I feel as lonely and miserable as I was before.   
But is this the solution I really want? To be surrounded by pussies, brown savages and degenerates just to make myself feel slightly better?  
  


I wince and bite the bullet.

  
And maybe even one of them has a female friend who might be interested in me. Friends. Girlfriend. A social life. The dream. Just anything really. I’d be happy with that.

  
  


But soon two other people appear, completely derailing any accusations of me being a nazi or further destroying one of the last chances of me getting some friends.

One of the people looks completely normal, clearly of middle eastern descent and with a black and white bandana of sorts around his neck. The other is a faggot with his shirt collar open, lipgloss and heals, flouncing through the door like he owns the place. 

“Hey honeys. I have arrived.” and he gives us a regal wave before sitting down.  
The middle eastern man trails behind him, like he really doesn’t want to be here or at least around the fag which is very understandable. 

I watch as the man sashays over to the empty chair which he pulls out, with a horrible squeak on the corked floor and sits down on.  
He places his elbows on the tables and looks at me, his eyes fluttering. I can’t help but be comfortable and look away.  
  
“So who are you sweetie.”  
  
“I’m James.”  
  
“Oh that’s interesting.” and he twirls a curl of his hair.  
  
“Leave him alone Homonat. I’m Jibreel and I’m a Ba’athist. Syria represent.”  
  
“Well James, you can call me Nathan or Homonat if you want. I can also give you my number if you want it.”  
  
“I think I’m fine faggot.”  
  
“Your loss darling.”

Luckily, the conversation quickly turns to a heated argument about which world war two tanks were better, everything I said completely forgotten. Homonat and Joseph are ready to go at each other's throats, the faggot manically snapping his fingers and gesticulating wildly with his bedazzled claws. While Joseph is just raging that his little pet USSR got insulted or something irrelevant. 

Jibreel is scrolling on his phone, zoned out, occasionally chipping in to help Joseph. And I make sure to keep my head down and bite my tongue, suppressing all my opinions on tanks since he scares me. And the idea of getting kicked out, even before I’ve joined scares me. And I hate myself for being scared. But the anxiety in the pits of my stomach comes back and lingers, like a snake poised to strike and destroy me again. 

  
We stop halfway through the three hours we’re meant to be here for. Everyone stands up and wanders into the small kitchen. A packet of biscuits appears from the depths of Homonat’s purse. Someone opens a bag of chips and Joseph flicks the kettle in the small kitchen on. 

I stand with Jibreel and Joseph in the kitchen, watching the water start to boil. The silence is so thick you could cut it. Joseph just hulks there but I can hear Jibreel shifting his weight, his shoes squeaking on the old linoleum floor. He looks at me and then shoots a glance at Joseph. Joseph just shrugs.  
  
I know they don’t want me there. Joseph just has to say it and I’m kicked out.  
  
“Comrade you know he-” is all I manage to catch when he whispers to Joseph.

I turn around and pretend I haven't noticed anything. I stare at the shitty paper flowers on the cork boards that line the walls, made by scouts. Anything to make it look like I don’t notice what's going on. I just know they don’t fucking want me here. And somewhere deep inside, it hurts. 

I hear the clanking of him picking up the kettle and pouring himself a cup of coffee. I turn around. The brown steaming liquid pools into the old chipped mug. I try to peer over his shoulder, waiting for him to hurry up.  
  
“Give me your mug,” he says, not a shred of emotion in his voice.  
I scramble to hand it to him. It reminds me of something I'd see at my grandmother’s house. White with a blue rim and faded peaches printed on the side. I suppress a small smile.  
  
He slowly pours me a cup too.  
“There you go comrade.” and hands it to me.  
  
“Great but I can do it myself. I’m not a child.” I snipe at him. He just gives me a tired sigh, turns around and leaves. 

  
  


An hour and a half later, most of us trickle out to catch the train home or wander to the carpark. Every one trickles out until it’s just us left. Me and Joseph.

I stand on the concrete step in front of the door as I watch him lock it. I pull my coat shut, the sun had set long ago and with that, all warmth had disappeared. It’s a crisp cold night but the road nearby is still busy. 

On the doorstep of the hall, he turns to face me.

“Comrade I know you are fascist. I know a lot of the group doesn’t like it but ve are fine with keeping you. Please don’t create any problems.”

“First of all, I’m a White Idenititarian, even if I were a fascist, aren’t Homonat and EsoFash also fascists? Why are you not warning them?”

“They are harmless comrade and I can tell you’re not.”

“You’re wrong but believe whatever you want. After all, I’m just trying to do the best for my people.” 

“Alright then comrade” he grunts and then stands up, pulling his coat on and grabbing his bag. Just before he leaves, he turns to look at me, a small smile on his face.

“Okay, I am leaving comrade. Vill see you next week I assume.”  
And he walks off into the carpark, leaving me alone in the dark. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self promo but jreddit is dead so follow me on twitter @anarchocopium for bad takes
> 
> Also sorry for doing my boy, Homonat dirty, I swear I'll treat him better as a character in future chapters


	2. Old Postcards - Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning but there is a helicopter joke and Ancom gets misgendered.

After all the chaos of the week, three assignments due in two days and last weeks first session, I was walking up the path to the hall again.  
By the time I arrive, everyone is already there and deep in conversation. I arrived five minutes late so I brush it off. The only person who greets me is Joseph with the slight nod of his head in acknowledgement.

I pull out a chair next to Jibreel, its legs draw out an ungodly squeak on the cork floor and I sit down. Jibreel only gives me a cursory glance.

“Oh, you’re here.”

All of the novelty of a new member has worn off, now it’s just back to ignoring me like I don’t exist. I mean I didn’t expect it especially not from the sandn-

A “hey honeyyyyy” gives me whiplash, knocking me out of my thoughts. The faggot stands up from his chair and trots over to me, his heels clinking.

“How is everything going.” but I don’t respond.

Out of the blue, I feel his painted hands rest on my shoulders. I instinctively recoil and wriggle my way out of his grasp. I hear him laugh above me and his light breathing. Oh, God. In the pit of my stomach, it starts to build. Disgust. Fear. Embarrassment. It starts to build. My head is bowed but I can feel everyone's eyes on me. Even EsoFash. Watching me. Watching me squirm all because some faggot touched me. Tears start to crop up in the corner of my eyes but they don’t fall. I haven’t cried so long that I doubt I’d even be able to cry now. Disgust. Just pure disgust.

And then I look up, quickly glancing around at the other members of the group. They seem to not have even noticed what’s going on. Jibreel is still talking with Joseph and Posadist. EsoFash is in another place entirely. But Homonat is still standing behind me.

“What the fuck are you doing faggot” I hiss at him. I hate that I’m still shaking.

“Sweetie I just wanted to say hi.”

“Fuck off. Leave me alone. I don’t want to have to fucking deal with you, you pedo faggot piece of shit.”

And that’s when Posadist overhears it.

“Hey, you can’t just call him that.”

“I can and I fucking will.” I cross my arms defiantly as if that’s going to prove a point.

“Comrade he is right even though he is a Trotskyist. You cannot just call Homonat a pedo and a faggot.”

Homonat flounces over to Joseph.

“Please make him say sorry. I don’t know why you tolerate this behaviour.” and I can almost hear the pleading in his voice. The pleading that seduces good heterosexual men into culture-eroding degeneracy and faggotry.

“Comrade please apologise.”

“I won’t.”

“Brother please just apologise so we can get back to what we were doing before.” cuts in Jibreel before anyone can say anything.

“Fuck you.”

“Please,” asks Jibreel. 

“Please do,” adds Homonat with a lewd sigh which makes me want to throw up.

“Okay fine. Well, I’m sorry for being right. And I’m sorry for hurting everyone's feelings. Seems you guys can’t face the truth but I’m very sorry.”

Joseph sighs.  
“An actual apology please comrade.”

“Fine. I’m sorry.” I say through gritted teeth.

“See. That wasn’t too hard vas it comrade?”

“Fuck you.” and I give him the finger but he ignores it.

  
  
  


“Oh vait I just remembered I have something.” and he pulls out a stack of old postcards and photographs. Yellowed card and faded pictures, neat but illegible cursive and photos of people, long forgotten in the sands of time. They’re beautiful and remind me of better times, better times I have never experienced but am still nostalgic towards. Places like the fatherland. But maybe one day we can make it happen.

Something inside of me fills with joy and I want nothing more to reach out to them and study them. I rest my chin on my hand, my hand covering my mouth and suppressing a smile.

“Someone vas selling their old family things at a junkyard sale and I managed to find these.”

“Wait can I have a look at the brother?” asks Jibreel and Joseph hands him the stack. He starts to flick through them carefully, studying each one quickly before moving on. He then hands the stack to Posadist who then, in turn, hands it to me.

I flick through scenes of family life, children playing in streams, someone milking a cow and other idyllic pictures.  
I love them so much and I wish I could return to that traditional life. A return to the traditions and cultures which many cultures and races have tried to take from us. And I really do love them.

But instead of kind words, I do the very opposite thing I should.

“Where did you get these from? This is the faggot version of white girl Polaroids. You fucking queer.”  
I don’t actually believe he’s queer but it’s a good insult. There is nothing worse than being told you're not a real man.

“If you do not like them then vhy did you look at them and why are you here?”

“Because I’m a real man. I’m not emasculated and soy like the rest of you. Your brain is rotted by Jewish Bolksivkism and the rejection of tradition. I’m actually here to hone my skills, shoot guns and camp instead of looking at stupid photos of people doing the laundry or whatever.”

He looks at me quickly, his face is bored and blank. Like he doesn’t even care that I called him slurs. He just grabs the photographs from me and everyone returns to discussing them as nothing happened.

  
  
  
  


“Vhen my ex vas still around we’d go camping sometimes,” he mentions later, talking into the ether. 

“Good for you and your faggot partner but no one here particularly wants to go camping.”

“Don’t speak about Ancom like that,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t know who Ancom is but if I were in a relationship with you I’d just off myself. Jump in front of a moving car or something. What a poor girl since you’re a fucking faggot.”

No one responds and I feel the temperature of the room drop by 50 degrees. Jibreel is cringing, Posadist is grimacing and Joseph just looks like he got hit in the face. But he quickly pulls himself together.

“What are you looking at me all funny for.”

“Can I please speak with you.” and he stands up. I do as he says, it was less of a question and more of a command or an order.

I follow him into the storage room. It’s decently sized, it’s walls lined with wooden cupboards which have stickers on them with names of scout groups and clubs.  
He makes me go in first before following me in and closing the door. He’s effectively blocked the only way out.

“Vhat the fuck was that for.” and he gives me a pained grimace.

“I was just speaking the truth. It’s not my fault that you're completely rotted from the core by your Marxist bullshit.” and I consciously cross my arms. Anything seems more threatening and “chad” then I actually am. But then I’m not a Slavic Untermensch so I’m the one winning.

“Нет. I meant vhat you said about my ex.”

I just shrug nonchalantly.  
“I was just using my free speech Commie.”

I can see his face starting to go red slightly, his composure slowly slipping.  
“Freedom of speech doesn’t mean freedom of consequences.”

“Well, what are the consequences then?” I trill.

“Kicked out of the group.”

He steps towards me and I take one back. Another step forwards and another one of mine back. All the way until I’m backed up against the cupboards with him looming over me slightly, dangerously close.

Feelings are starting to pool in my stomach, coiling like the Níðhöggr, the serpent gnawing at the roots of the world tree, eating me up from the inside.  


He’s so close I can almost feel my breath, his body far far too close to mine. I don’t even understand what I’m feeling now. The feeling of burning up. From fear. It has to be fear. There is nothing else it could be.

“You can’t just do that? I just made fun of your ex. You’re not with her anymore so I don’t know why you’re so fucking upset about this.”

“Qi’s dead.”

I gulp.  
“Not my problem. Women are weak, disadvantaged and only good for one thing. And that one thing is not being chased after by some Slavic cuck. Go find yourself a wife you degenerate.”

“Shut the fuck up and qi was non-binary.”  
By now, his face is fully red. Like he’s ready to murder me.

There is no way she’s non-binary or whatever. No one who looks like him would be anything apart from heterosexual. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.

“Oh, an attack helicopter? Well, you’ll have to fucking make me.”

“You fucking piece of shit.” and he grabs my upper-arms. Red flushes across my cheeks. Oh, God. This is not good.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” and I try and squirm out of his grip. But his fingers dig into my upper arms until his knuckles go white.

“Then stop trying to start shit all the time and mocking the dead.” his accent thicker than usual, tainted with barely concealed rage.

I don’t say anything apart from trying to stare him down, never-ending and unwavering eye contact. He doesn’t break it either, his eyes burning with a cold fire. I wonder what he’s thinking behind them. What’s going on in his mind. But all I know is that I can hear his heavy breathing and that his fingers are digging into my arms.

We just stand there and slowly I watch the red fade from his face. The fire dies and is replaced with just passive boredom. Pathetic. He would be a peak male specimen if he weren’t a Slav. I wish I was half as tall as him and half as strong as him. But he’s just giving up like that. 

He finally sighs. His releases me, accidentally brushing my arms softly as he retracts them. Something tilts in my stomach, presumably from everything that just happened. I mean we fought so the tilt is naturally from fear.

Wordlessly, he turns around and marches out leaving me all alone in the storage room.

Instead of heading back to the others, I walk to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. What the fuck.  
I stare into the mirror, my face lit up by the fluorescent lights.

What the fuck was that.  
I can still feel the lingering sensation of his hands on my arms. Where every single one of his fingers were and how it made me feel. I wash my face twice more and then rejoin the rest of the ground.

He says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If its not clear, I'm just clarifying this since I have three braincells but ancom isn't afab, nazi is just a fucking moron


	3. Documentary watching - Chapter Three

Miraculously, I had not been kicked out the group. But even better, I was invited to their Saturday afternoon documentary viewing. Provided I bring food.  
I knock on the door and an ageing woman opens the door. She’s dressed modestly with a headscarf. Finally, a woman who doesn’t dress like a slut.

“JIBREEL. SOMEONE ELSE ARRIVED.”

A few seconds later, I hear footsteps coming down the hall and it’s grinning Jibreel. But his smile falls the moment he sees me.

“Oh hi, James.”

“Uh. Hi.”

“Follow me.”

And I do as he says. I step inside his house and take my shoes off and then follow him to his room.

“And before you say anything snarky, I live with my parents because it's cheaper like this.”

His room is small and neat. There’s a desk in the corner, a neatly made double-bed and a cardboard cutout of Assad. Weird but I’ve seen weirder. I guess. And everyone else is spread out on his bed or various pillows on the floor with someone’s laptop placed in the centre middle.

Esofash is sitting unnaturally straight on the floor, there’s an unoccupied pillow which was probably Jibreel’s. Homonat is splayed out on the bed, like a Roman emperor with Joseph perched uncomfortably next to him, squashed into the corner where the pillow is.

“Hey honeee. I’m surprised you came since I heard through the grapevine that you and Joseph had a falling out.” and he’s practically preening and curling his hair again. Not this bullshit again.  
Joseph neither confirms nor denies it and Jibreel sits down on his pillow.

“Come sweetie sit down next to me.” and he sits up, making space between him and Joseph. Joseph finally sits down properly on the bed and gets comfy. And I follow suit, sitting down next to them.  
And now I’m trapped between two ticking time bombs, one sitting attentively and the other one, now lying on his stomach with his elbows propping his face up.

“So honey, how was your week?” and the faggy pleading is back again, complete with his faux-innocent eyes, anything to trick another heterosexual man into degeneracy.

“Leave me alone.” and I don’t even look at him. Maybe he’ll go away or at least stop harrassing me.

“What exactly are you studying. Like whats your major?” he drawls like a valley girl.

“Please shut up,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Are you dating anyone?”

I know I can’t yell at him since everyone else will freak out at me since everyone likes him more than me. So I just ignore him. Ignore him that queer like he’s not there. And maybe he’ll just disappear.

Soon the food comes out and the documentary starts playing. It’s some crap on World War Two. Some garbage on the French Resistance. Predictably, Joseph, Posadist and Jibreel are the only ones paying attention. Homonat has his phone out and is frantically typing, his nails clicking on the glass. Esofash is fucking out of it as per usual.

“Comrade, can you pass me the popcorn?”

“What?” and my voice cracks. I die a little inside. Emasculated by a stupid fucking Untermensch.

“The popcorn.” and he points at the bowl on the floor, just nearly out of my reach. I lean forwards but I can’t reach. He watches me as I try and crawl forwards, my shirt untucks itself. I keep dying on the inside as I feel his gaze on me as I grab the edge of the popcorn bowl and then pull it to safety.

“Thank you, comrade.”

And I don’t trust myself to say anything back. I don’t know what’s going on in my brain anymore. I just turn my focus to the stupid documentary. I don’t know who chose it but if I had the guts to do it, I’d give them a piece of my mind. I would take a documentary on the Romans or the Goths any day instead of this stupid French shit.

He reaches out to grab something else near me but in his reach. I feel shoulder bump me and I jerk away. He just sighs.

“Vhy are you so jumpy.” but I just ignore him like I ignored Homonat. If I ignore my problems, maybe they’ll go the fuck away.

After a while, it just gets too much and I wander out of the room in search of the bathroom but instead, I just end up in the lounge with Jibreel’s mother who’s prattling on about something in Arabic with music that I don’t understand, blaring.  
She turns around when she sees me.

“Oh, you’re one of Jibreel’s friends aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“I’m Yara and you are?”

“James. Uh, James Reichmanger.”

“What are you studying?”

“Economics and Classics.”

“Very nice. That’s interesting. Well, that’s so nice you’ve got what you’re studied sorting out. My Jibreel won’t stop changing his major.”

I just nod in agreement and wander out the front door instead of simply going home. I sit down on the doorstep and watch the cars go by. I enjoy the sun on my face. It’s all so peaceful and calm. And I feel genuine happiness which I haven’t felt in a long time, just happy and content.

It doesn’t feel like long until I hear the door open behind me. I shuffle over to the side so that whoever can get past. But instead of walking past me, the person sits down next to me.  
I look over and it’s Joseph pulls a pack of cigarettes from his coat. I watch him fumble around with the box with a slight smile haunting my face. He then pops it in his mouth and lights.

“So, comrade, how are things going,” he says in between a drag.

“None of your business you subhuman.” but he just chuckles in response.

“Vhy do you lash out everyone? Anxiety and stress or are you just an angry frustrated incel?”

“As I said, none of your business.”

“Daddy issues? Did your dad leave you or vhat? Or did he not love you enough or?”

“No he did not! Shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Get that through your caveman skull.”

“Vas just asking questions. No need to be so hostile. I also used to be very angry as a kid. Very angry at the world.”

“I really don’t care.”

He takes a drag and continues.  
“… and then I started going to therapy. It helped a lot and you should try it comrade.”

“I’m not going to be told by some dumbass whore that I have fucking issues or that I’m in the closet or that I have an unhealthy worldview.”

“It vould do you good to at least talk about it though.”

I sigh and allow him some satisfaction at my defeat.  
“Alright. You’ve won. You are right.”

“There is no vinning with this but alright comrade.”

“Yeah my dad doesn’t fucking love me and I’m a fucking incel or whatever you want to call it. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

He just hums.  
“I understand comrade.”

“No, you really fucking don’t.”

“You are right if you mean I haven't experienced what you have but I understand you being far-right and angry. The far-right preys on angry young men without a purpose in life and gives them a purpose and a minority group to direct their anger at instead of looking at the real problem vhich is capitalism. Capitalist alienation comrade. That’s all it is.”

“Shut the fuck up vith all your Jewish Bolshevik bullshit.”

“Alright.” he drops the cigarette on the garden tiles, stands up and grounds the cigarette into the stone. He turns around and walks back inside the house, leaving me sitting all by myself.

And I feel a twinge of pain inside of me. Loneliness? But I don’t know why, and I don’t think about it further. I just watch the cars continue to drive by. I look at his cigarette butt. I watch someone’s cat stalks down the driveway. I look at his cigarette butt. And for some reason, the conversation still stings. I shrug off any feelings and head home without saying goodbye.

Later that day, I check my clock on my bed stand. It says 3:33. It’s green digital lights blinking in my darkroom, only lit by my TV. The exhaustion has crept into my bones and my eyes, destroying any ability to aim or think clearly.  
I turn my Xbox off, toss my hat off and roll into bed, still clothed.

I stare at the ceiling and he worms his way into my brain again. Our conversation on the steps of Jibreel’s house plays on repeat over and over again. Like it’s lodged in my brain.  
And the only thing I can do is just keep staring at the swirls in the plaster on the ceiling.

I sit up and check my phone last time, for something or anything. No notifications from the LARP club. One notification from a discord server. Nothing from twitter. I sigh and snuggle into my sheets.

Soon sleep claims me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also sorry but fast moving plots are cringe and dumb and gay so I wont do that
> 
> (I'm allowed to say that because I'm gay)
> 
> Edit: legit forgot this chapter had a nick land reference until my friend called me out on it


	4. Chapter Four

My phone rings and I check the caller ID. It’s my father. The oh too familiar feeling of anxiety starts to flood my stomach, a deluge of agony and pain which flows into my face. Cold iciness into my throat and cheeks as my heart keeps beating.  
I calmly pick up the phone. But it’s a horrible painful calm.

I know this is better than talking to my mum. Well, it’s not. It’s just a painful reminder that I will reach out for love and affection and he’ll reject it, wanting nothing from me. Not wanting me and the anxiety of bracing myself for that rejection.

“Y-yes Evo- I mean dad. Hi.”

“Your mother told me to call you. She’s been looking at your grades,” he says, his voice tired. Like he doesn’t want to talk to me or be anywhere near me even through the phone.

“and?”

“She tells me they haven’t been doing good.”

“I’ve just been very sick recently.” I lie through gritted teeth.

“Sure.”  
He can tell I’m lying but doesn’t pursue it further. I know he’s going to tell my mum that I’ve been sick but she can’t hear me badly lying, only what my father tells her. So I’ll be alright.

Silence hangs in the air for what feels like half an hour until he coughs. I can hear every single one of my breaths like the ticking of a clock. I desperately try to think of something to say but no matter how hard I try; I can’t think of anything.

“How’s ma’s hea-“

“I have to go.” and he cuts me off and hangs up on me without so much of a goodbye. I hear familiar beeping coming from down the line.

  
  


Two hours later and the phone call and my parents are living rent-free in my mind. A toxic combination of fear of my mother, anguish combing with anxiety and stress from university.

I just sit in front of my laptop, a document open and just staring at it until the words start to blur together and my eyes start to water from the glare. It just hurts so much. It hurts so much in my back, my throat and where my heart is. Just unending agony and loneliness. Not just the shit with my dad and my mum but with everything else, everything piling up on me. 

And all I want is a hug. I just want a fucking hug. But I don’t even know who from. I don’t know anyone from university. I barely talk to anyone in my lectures. The only people I have is the LARP club. My brain starts to speed run through the last few weeks and months together with them. I think of the group of us dicking around in a bookstore. I think about me and Joseph, helping cleaning up EsoFash’s creepy house. 

_ I’m too busy following Joseph up the EsoFash’s old stairs to pay attention to where I'm stepping. I place my foot on the step in front of me but it just continues through, unimpeded by the softwood. _

_ I feel the ground rush up towards me and I grab for the bannister, but it does nothing. My right foot has gone through the rotten floorboard and the other leg sits on top of the stair below it, unnaturally bent. But I'm fine, I'll just have bruising where my legs hit the stair. _

_ Joseph, clatters down the stairs, his face full of concern. Even I can see that in the dark. _

_ “Comrade you alright?” _

_ “Never been fucking better.” I hiss at him. _

_ “Here. Let me help you up.” _

_ “I’m fucking fine. I can do this by myself.” but he doesn’t listen, his arms hook under my armpits, dragging me up out of the splintered remains of the wood step. We stagger for a few seconds, his arms wrapped around me and I lean into his chest. I look at him, his face framed by the ushanka and his brown eyes. And he’s looking back down at me and something twists in my stomach. Looking at my mouth. _

I hate myself but thoughts about his strong arms flash through my mind. Thoughts about me wanting him to hold me. And it's what I want. I just want to be held and loved and ki-

I break my delusional and desperate train of thoughts right there and flick Joseph a message on Discord. It says he’s online, but I still watch, watching for a sign he’s typing or anything.  
But luckily it doesn’t take long until he replies.

**Reichmanger  
** Joseph, can you do me a favour?

**Comrade Joseph  
** Hello comrade. And what can I do?

**Reichmanger  
** Do you want to come over?

**Comrade Joseph  
** I am currently at Jonas’s house drinking

**Reichmanger  
** Oh. I understand that.

I can’t help feel a twinge of disappointment and something else I can’t really place. Loneliness. Not even he wants anything to do with me. 

**Comrade Joseph  
** But we can both come over. The more the merrier.

The disappointment washes away somewhat. I allow myself a little smile. I’m going to be alright and I will get the hugs I so desperately need. I hope.

It doesn’t take long for them to both arrive at my door, Jonas with a six-pack of cheap beer in hand. I let them in and they quickly make themselves comfy on my couch.

Jonas cracks open a beer and Joseph pulls out a bottle of vodka from under his coat.  
“Comrade, do you have shot glasses?”

“Uh sure.” and I quickly get them. I swear I can watch the two of them drill holes into my back as I get the glasses. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. But my fucking brain doesn’t care since I feel the pit of anxiety inside of me starting to well up.  
It’s like they’re watching for me to make one mistake and then embarrass me, mock me. But I quickly find the shot glasses, they’re mismatched and from a second-hand store but they’ll have to do.  
What the fuck is wrong with my brain.

I watch him pour a shot and down it without flinching at the burning. He’s probably used to it.

I grab one of the beers and crack the can open. I take a careful sip, the events of the day and the phone call still lingering in my mind. My apathetic dad and my overbearing bitch of a mother. A helicopter parent trying to smother me before I can even make it out of the nest. Typical woman. She should know her damn place. And as much as I hate university, I’m so glad that it let me get out from under her wings. I couldn’t have managed another year in that fucking house without snapping.

“Oye buddy” and Posadist waves his hands. I quickly snack back to reality.

They’re both staring at me while I just sit there, beer in hand. Without knowing, I’ve slowly been trying to crush it, my knuckles going white.

“What?”

“Are you alright comrade?” asks Jonas.

“I’m perfectly fine. I’m not a spineless weakling. I’m not fucking soy.”

Jonas just nods but doesn’t say anything further.

I still haven't received any of the affection from them that was the reason why I asked them to come over. Just too scared to ask and I don’t want them to think I’m gay when I’m not. But at least just having people there who are my friends. I think. Who are talking to me and hanging out with me makes me feel a tad bit better.

A couple of drinks later, I’ve slipped into the haze. My field of vision starts getting narrower. Someone switched on the TV and it’s blaring something. One of those shows where they clear out storage lockers.   
Its glare reflects on our faces, we forgot to turn the lights on. I go to turn on the lights but I stand up far too fast. This does not feel good.  
I feel like I’ve lost complete control over my limbs. I can make them do things but they’re not completely mine. Like a potato sack or a marionette.  


And that’s when the only thing keeping my emotions down and shut away from the others starts to slip off. And soon it’s all unbottled and leaking out.  
I don’t even know how I feel or what I feel but it leaks down my face.

Just weeks and months and years of built-up stress, anxiety, pain and loneliness and I just weep. And no matter how hard I try; I can’t stop the tears. At this point, I don’t even care if I’m being weak. I haven’t cried in so long. And even if I didn’t want to do anything about it, my body is shaking with sobs and I couldn’t make them stop even if I wanted to.

A drunk Jonas bumbles over to me wraps his arms around me. In my drunken state, my mind tells me if I’d prefer if Joseph were doing it. He seems like a good hugger with his strong big arms. Wrapped around me and holding me tightly. But I’d take a hug from Posadist over nothing. Just any touch. Just anyone caring even slightly about me.

  
  


Sooner or later Jonas curls up on the couch while I and Joseph sit around the living room table. But we don’t talk. It’s just better like this. And also, Jonas threatened he’d nuke us or something if we wake him up. I didn’t fully catch what he said but I just watch Joseph take more shots and the man on the TV trying to sell the garbage in his storage locker. I feel like my brain is bleeding and I feel horrible, but I don’t care. I just watch Joseph. At least I’m not crying anymore. I’m still so fucking touch starved and lonely but there are no tears. Just cold loneliness, painfully eating away at something inside of me. And it hurts so much.

“Comrade ve should go to bed. It’s late.”

“O-okay Joseph. Jonas is on the sofa so you can sleep on my bed. Just don’t fucking touch me. I’m not a perverted sissy so I won’t like it.”

“Vhatever.”

We both crawl into my bed and he shuffles as far away from me as he can comfortably, laying on his back. But my brain, rotted by touch starvation and alcohol overrides any good sense and I shuffle closer to him.

“Please hold me,” I whisper in the dark.

“Vhat?”

“Hold me. Spoon me.”

“Mhm okay.”

“But not in a faggot degenerate way. You are just being my compatriot. Friend. Whatever.”

I hear him roll over onto his side and so do I. He shuffles closer to me until he’s pressed up against me and his heavy arm wraps around my waist. This was such a bad fucking idea. He’s far far far too fucking close. What the fuck has come over me? His soft breathing, the lingering smell of alcohol and his sweat, his face pressed into the back of my neck and my rapidly beating heart.

Is this what fucking Homonat did to me? With all his stupid flouncing and being in the vicinity of someone like (((him))), I’ve been seduced into the same lifestyle as him.  
He could just kiss me right now. If he wanted to. He could fucking kiss me. And now I’m hyper-aware of every movement of his face, hyperaware that we’re joined from the chest to the thigh to the chest.   
What if he fucking kissed me and I felt his soft lips pressing down on my nape and the juncture of my neck and shoulders. Kissing me tenderly. Me under him, pinned down under him and him ki-

I feel my pulse picking up even more. What is fucking wrong with me? What the actual fucking hell is wrong with me. I’m fucking better than this. I’m so so much fucking better than this. I’m white, I’m part of the master race, I’m heterosexual but here I am in bed with another man, thinking thoughts like this.  
Maybe I’m just like another one of those dudes on Discord who had a porn addiction which turned him gay. And when he stopped masturbating, the gay thoughts went away. It’s like that but I’m not having gay thoughts and I don’t have a porn addiction.  
At the end of the day, I know for a fact I’m heterosexual and these are thoughts I can purge. And something about that soothes me. I relax into his arms and fall into a deep sleep.

  
  
  


When I wake I feel horrible. A pounding headache. But something warm is pressed into my face, the soft sound of breathing and gentle rhythmic movements, the rise and fall of someone’s chest. I feel heat flush across my cheeks until I realise what it is.

Joseph. 

Together we drifted into the middle of the bed, with my face pressed into his chest and his arms wrapped around me.

And panic slowly but surely starts to course through my veins. Coursing till I feel bile in the back of my throat, but I don't do anything. I don't untangle myself from his warm cocoon or strong arms. I barely remember anything I felt last night or anything that happened clearly. Just alcohol tainted thoughts and memories of his face pressed into my neck and him spooning me. A haze and I don’t let myself explore it any further.

Soon I find myself on the brink of sleep again, the anxiety lulled away by the need for sleep and comfort.

Just before I'm about to fall asleep again, I feel his hand leave my back and migrate to my hair. His fingers run through my hair and I keep pretending to be asleep. I am not giving anyone the fucking idea that I enjoy this degeneracy or that I fucking wanted it. I can't help but smile though, a small smile he doesn't see. It feels so fucking good.

But it ends as quickly as it started. He untangles himself from me, the mattress moving as he stands up. And soon I hear the door to my bedroom close softly as he leaves to get dressed, a pile of clothes in his hands.

I finally let myself breathe out, the tension from the perverted degenerate shit ebbing away and sprawl out in my bed and in the warm patch that just until now occupied Joseph. Soft sunlight filters onto my face and I smile. I’m hungover, in physical pain but I feel happy. I can’t help but allow myself a small content smile. Finally, peace.

  
  


When he and Jonas leave, he tries to give me a bro hug, nearly slapping my back. But I shy away.  
"Don't touch me you sick perverted faggot."

Jonas gives me a confused look but doesn’t say anything.

"Alright comrade." he just shrugs and leaves. 

I watch them both go, thinking about the last 24 hours. I don’t know what to make of them apart from just confusion. I walk back inside, switch my Xbox and spend the next few hours verbally abusing minorities until all my warring emotions are gone.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapters alright, my brains a bit fried so I don't know what I'm doing. Give me validation if you want. I wrote this instead of working my uni assignments due at the end of this week kek


	5. Chapter Five - Camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poggers, this is a lengthy fucking chapter so I cut it in half. So this is part one

My week goes as normal, I work, I study and sometimes thoughts of Joseph permeate my mind but otherwise, it’s just the standard week. That is until Saturday comes.  
Someone texted our address to the group chat which I was added to and we were going to ‘LARP’ in the woods. And that meant camping and uniforms, the whole shebang. 

I make sure to make myself breakfast. Usually, I just skip but I know that today I have to eat properly. An actual nutritious meal. And then I start to drive out to the national park.

For two hours, I sit in absolute silence, just the eyes on the curving road that twists like a sheet of metal, black, bending and wet from the drizzle this morning. It’s relatively uneventful, no big roadworks and a quick break at Mcdonalds, which I don’t approve of for various reasons but my bladder doesn’t care. 

And finally, I peel off the state highway, onto a smaller road. It quickly starts to snake its way through the ever-thickening pine trees. which continue for a 100metres before ending in a car park.   
There are other cars parked already, surrounded by everyone else in the group milling around.

Every single one of them is in military uniform, in varying states of cleanliness. Joseph looks extremely smart with his rifle slung over his shoulder and him rummaging through his trunk whereas EsoFash’s is crinkled and he’s muttering to himself. But I guess that’s just him.   
Ba’athist and Posadist are sitting on a log eating and the faggot is applying mascara using his wing mirrors. His style of dress is usually degenerate but it’s even worse this time. A short skirt which doesn’t even reach his knees and on the top, a military uniform. And the worst thing is that it’s colour coordinated.

I quickly climb out of the car and change into my uniform behind some bushes and then join the others. They’ve started milling around in a circle. Expect for Homonat who’s quickly brushing his face with a makeup brush, applying some sort of flesh-toned powder.

“The kulak has finally arrived. Ve were vaiting for you.” and he smiles at me. It’s a genuine smile. He’s actually happy to see me. I can’t help but scowl back at him.

“Don’t fucking speak to me.” but he just shrugs it off.

And Ba’athist, Posadist and Joseph start quickly discussing and organising who’s going to carry what gear in their packs, things like the tarpaulin sheets for the tents, cans of food and all this other crap. 

Posadist hands me a large tin of spam and a lot of dried ramen that I absentmindedly and without a question add to my pack. And soon we set off in a group, following a trail through the pine trees. It’s thin and single file with exposed roots crawling through the ground and the undergrowth.

Luckily it means I don’t have to speak to anyone and I make sure I’m walking in front of Homonat and behind EsoFash so I don’t have to speak to any of the communists. Especially Joseph. Fuck him and his bullshit. The last thing I want is to hear his voice. It’s worse than even Posadist’s annoying whistling. 

If he spoke to me, I would murder him. The end of the Kali Yuga cannot come fast enough. I hate this so much and I’m starting to feel regrets about ever joining the trip.

We spend the rest of the day walking, the trees start to thin and transform into shoulder-high gorse. And it’s fucking awful, the sun beating down upon us. I can feel the sweat starting to pool under the thick wool collar of my uniform. It’s fucking awful but somehow we manage to get through it, constantly hydrating ourselves with short breaks to pee. The only two people not suffering are Ba'athist and Posadist but that’s because unlike my or Joseph’s uniforms, they’re lightweight and designed for hot climates or the tropical jungles of South America.

When dusk creeps in on us, the air getting colder and the mosquitos start swarming, we set up camp. We have one tent in the form of an ugly blue tarpaulin on the ground and another tarpaulin over the top. It’s not exactly glamourous but it’s summer so it works.We end up huddled like sardines in a can next to each other in our sleeping bags but luckily I’m not next to Joseph. On my left is Ba’athist and on my right, EsoFash who smells like sweat, piss and something else I don’t want to place. But my bones are tired and sore, quickly enveloping me in the cocoon of sleep.

The next day goes relatively the same, more walking and even more walking but at least, we end up under the cover of trees again.  
But soon we break the tree line, instead of rolling meadows or anything, it’s the muddy banks of a wide creek. Too deep to wade through and too wide to jump.

We all form a huddle, like a river dammed, flowing over its banks into a circular pool. No one knows what to do and I don’t think any of us are ready to think anyway. Even Joseph is still out of it, even though everyone is looking at him to say something.

"DARLINGS. Y'know there's a log right there," yells Homonat. And sure enough, there is, it's an old log from a tree fallen long ago stretching across the creek. Its stump sits right at the edge of the tree line.

As we get closer, we start to see the rotting and flaking bark. It's not going to be very fun crossing this, with the high chances of the thing we're standing on crumbling just enough for us to lose our balance and tumble into the river.

And one by one we cross it in a line. I watch Posadist goes first, nimbly clambering over the stream. Next goes EsoFash in his Italian military uniform, helped by Ba'athist since I guess no one here wants to see the pathetic junkie fall and drown.

And then it's my turn.  
Joseph is behind me, and Homonat behind him and I curse myself for that.

I step onto the log and sure enough, bark starts flaking off but not enough to be a risk of any sort. I clearly start walking over it. Step by step, each foot in front of each other with my arms out like a tightrope walker.

I start to wobble and I try to rush to the end of the log before I finally lose all balance. The wobbling gets even worse. And then I finally keel over, the churning water rushes up to meet me. It swallows me, my heavy uniform sucking me down into the water. Currents tug at me, dragging me under until a pair of sturdy hands grip me like a vice.

He drags me onto the muddy bank, his arms clutching my upper arms. I’m completely soaked and my hair is glued to my forehead. His eyes linger. Something weird stirs in my stomach but I push it to the side.

“Comrade do you know how to swim.”  
  
“I just nearly died and you’re asking me if I know how to swim?” I spit at him.

“Relax you vere going to be fine anyvay. Plus I pulled you out. Can I at least get a thank you? And then you can go back to being overdramatic and pissy.” he says, a mischievous smile dancing across his lips. I'm completely fucking humiliated and he knows that. I hate him so much.

“Yeah, sweetie. Joseph’s right. At least thank him.” chimes in the spectating Homonat.

I look him and then look back at the others and Homonat who are watching me and sigh.

“Thank you, Joseph. That was very kind of you.” but my voice is laced with anything but kindness.

I then sit down and while the others watch me, take off as much of my wet clothes as I can without exposing myself. So just my jacket and my pants, living me in my underwear and my undershirt. It’s horrible and Homonat keeps through glances my way but it’s either this or I freeze in the cold thick wool. 

That night we curl up in our sleeping bags again, this time it’s a bit cooler but I manage. Instead of EsoFash and Ba’athist, I’m at the end of the tent. Tarpaulin on one side and Joseph on the other. I hear him shift and then roll over to face me.

“This alright comrade,” he whispers quietly before wrapping his arm around me. I don’t say anything, instead, I just get comfortable. It's a lot more natural and comes a lot more easily than last time. But nowhere as comfortable, the lumps in the uneven ground digging into my bones and sides.

I feel his lips whisper across the nape of my neck "good night comrade", making my hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my face flush for a second. But in a good way. This feels good. Genuinely good. Not right. I know what I’m doing isn’t right. But it’s okay, I’m allowed this one thing and no one will ever have to know about it.

His arms draped over me and his proximity to me is going to short circuit my brain. For everything good thought and feeling I have, I have an opposing thought that tells me it's sick, perverted and disgusting. I shouldn't be doing this with another man. 

And then I nearly die when he plants a small kiss. I don't react. I don't do anything. I just lay there, my brain melting into sludge and sleep.

I wake up in his arms, disgusted at myself. Sickening. Disgusted at what I let him do, and that I enjoyed it as well. That’s the worst part of it all. That I fucking liked it and I can’t help but be disappointed in myself. Why did I let myself give in to seduction attempts from faggots when I’m not gay?  
I swear I can still feel where he kissed me but it doesn't feel good anymore, only like the rising black tar in my stomach, stabbing at my mind repeatedly. 

It gets so bad that I give up on going back to sleep. I lay there for 20 minutes trying to do anything I can to make the thoughts stop but the anxiety keeps getting worse and worse, my sleeping bag is getting stuffy and constricting. And I'm starting to sweat. 

So I untangle myself from him and my sleeping bag, quietly padding out of the tent and onto the dewy grass. My lungs fill with fresh crisp air, free from the tent and I can hear birds chirping.   
It's a beautiful morning and after a while, the anxiety ebbs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note but Posadism not being taken seriously is an invention of the internet. Before that, Posadists were often the only Trotskyists in their country, fought along with Che and Castro as guerilla warriors and face the same oppression from governments as other communist groups did ie Marxist Leninists. Posadas himself was actually arrested and tortured by the Argentine government if I remember correctly


	6. Chapter Six - Camping Part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished my uni shit for the year so here is the second half of the camping chapter

We meet a fork in the path and Posadist starts fishing around for their map.  
“Okay so if we go left, we end up missing the 20m waterfall in its entirety but the ground is flatter. Though if we take the right route, it’s going to become pretty icky with our packs and rifles. Muddy and not very flat.”

“Why didn’t we plan this earlier?” asks Ba’athist.

“I thought we could choose at this point but we packed enough for both and we have spare tarpaulins and everything.”

“Alright,” says Ba’athist unconvinced.

“Vell we should probably go left then.”

“Typical communist. I’m not going left.” I spit, purely out of spite. In reality, I don’t care which route we take.

“Who vants to go left.”

“I do,” says Posadist.

“Me,” adds Ba’athist.

“I don’t care. I’m just going to go where the hottest guys are so it’s up to you.”

“Vell I don’t really care.”

And EsoFash says nothing which is predictable but at least for the first time, his eyes are focused. Probably since he has no LSD and shrooms to abuse. But I did see him doing a line behind the tent this morning, off the back of the frying pan when he thought no one was looking. But it shows, white powder under his nostril. He says that it helps him think and that his doctor prescribed it. Which I find it hard to believe since I haven't even been prescribed meds. Degenerate junkie. 

“I’m not going left. I refuse to go left.”

Posadist just sighs.  
“We should just split the party.”

“Typical Trotskyist but that could vork. Someone can go with James othervise he’d probably die in the voods. Vhich isn’t good.”

“Yeah. You’re right. We just need someone mature to go with him.”  
  
“Me! I would follow James anywhere.” and Homonat bats his eyelashes at me.

“Someone mature,” adds Posadist.

“Good because I don’t want to be stuck in a tent with the faggot by myself. I’m scared I might do something to him.”

“Just make Joseph go with him. Plus I think James likes him anyway so…”

And I snap. I launch myself at Homonat. It catches him off guarding, knocking him to the ground with a loud thunk.

“IM NOT A FUCKING FAGGOT.” and I punch him, essentially sitting on him.

“That’s hot.” he drawls, morale unaffected by my punch.

The others start to scramble and try to drag me off him. Joseph grabs at my collar and I wrestle my way out of his grasp, punching him again. He makes a lewd sound but I ignore it. 

I don’t care if he likes it, he’s not going to like having the shit beat out of him. I am not a faggot. I rain down another punch, just before Jibreel hooks his arms under my armpits and drags me off.

Jibreel holds me while I struggle in his grasp, his arms wrapped around my chest. And Joseph pulls Homonat up from the ground.

“Sweetie you got dirt on my skirt and don’t think I didn’t notice the shit between you and Joseph last night” and he pouts, brushing it off. God, I fucking hate that faggot so much and I try and wriggle my way out of Ba’athist arms again. But I get nowhere.

“Okay can ve just stop this and split the food and tarpaulins so ve can go on our way?”

I accept defeat.  
“Alright.”

  
  


Soon I and Joseph are marching on the way to the waterfall. I looked at the map and the path intersects with a highway before looping towards the waterfall and then loops around again, heading back to the car park where we started.

Luckily he doesn’t talk to me and we just march in silence, our deactivated rifles smacking against our back. 

Posadist lied or was wrong, there's no mud but we end up marching through dry forest. If a wildfire started, this would be prime feeding ground. The hot flames, coursing through the dry undergrowth like an insatiable beast. But he was right with the shit he said about the terrain, the path starts to fill with potholes and becomes steeper.

My thoughts cut short when I hear a crash and turn around. Commie is on the ground and stuck in some dry spindly shrubbery, his pain distorted in pain. He shuffles out of the shrubbery and onto some dry ground, one of his legs sticking out in front of him. I walk over him and look down at him.

“Useless Slavic Untermensch. You have a cut on your cheek.”

He just shrugs.  
“I don’t care.”

I swing my pack off my back and dig out the first aid kit. It’s packed with various stuff like bandages and things to treat bee stings but all I need is a band-aid. I find one and pull the plastic off it, not before sitting down on the ground in front of him. 

He lets me stick it on his cheek, my hand softly brushing his skin. I swear a little red tint but it’s gone in a second. Must just be the blood. Anyway, he’s not a faggot degenerate. No faggot is that strong and masculine with muscles like that.

We both stand up but he wobbles precariously before gripping my shoulder. His large hands dig into me like a vice and he hisses in pain.

“Comrade my ankle.”

I guide him back onto the ground and sit down opposite him again.

“What the hell happened.”

“Stepped in a hole comrade. Vas not looking. I hope it’s not broken.”  
  
I manage to find a large stick and make him place his leg onto my lap, while I strap it with the bandages. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Once I’m done, I drag him up from the ground.

“Ve have to go back, comrade. Go to the highvay and hitchhike back to the car park.”

I give him a singular nod. And then we start walking. Together we start to limp back to the road, my arm wrapped around his waist and he’s leaning on me. It’s extremely draining and he’s very heavy but I don’t have a choice. The last thing I want is to get charged with murder since I let the weakling die in the forest.

But it’s also tormenting on another level. Just being around him, his pained breathing in my ear, being forced to touch him, his arm wrapped around me. At least before he fucked his leg up, I could ignore him but now it’s a constant reminder of his presence. I hate him so much. I hate his stupid leg. I hate myself. I just want to make all the thoughts stop. Just stop my brain from working. Completely stop thinking about him.

That night, we eat a miserable lonely dinner. Now I'm regretting splitting off since I missed Posadist’s energy and Ba’athist with a deck of cards. Not Homonat though. I would never miss that faggot. But at least I have Joseph. The way he looks at me makes me feel something, something tumultuous in my stomach but in a good way. And his small, kind smiles do it too.

And then we crawl into the tent. He’s stretched out as comfortable as he can. And that feeling flares up again. And I wrap my arms around him and nestle my face into his chest. And he lets me. I can regret it in the morning. Just a little bit more degeneracy and then I'll stop. I’ll put a stop to this faggy bullshit and tell him I’m not interested tomorrow.

“Thank you comrade.” he looks at me, genuine gratitude in his eyes. And I can't help but give him a smile in return. Finally some recognition from Joseph that I still don't understand why I want it.

“Least I could do for you, compatriot” and he smiles at me in response.

In a moment of delusion, I lean in, closing the gap. It’s so soft and warm and tender just like how I always wanted it? I wanted it? But we quickly pull apart. Far, far too quickly but I tell myself it’s okay anyway. Sure I liked it but it has to stop. This is degenerate and I shouldn’t be doing any more of this. And together we fall asleep.

Eventually, we make it back to the car park. Sure it’s exhausting and I bitch about it the whole time. But it’s worth it. Together we go to the emergency room and luckily he’s broken nothing, he just needs to rest it with an icepack. And holy shit it’s so worth it. And all because of a kiss on the cheek and the smile he gives me before I drop him off outside of his flat. I can’t help but smile back. A wide smile filled with unbridled joy.

And when I get home, instead of playing COD, I just lay on my bed, thinking about him. Thinking about him and smiling. Thinking about him kissing me. And it’s bliss.


	7. A museum trip

Together we walk up the massive stairs to the museum on the hill, overlooking the city. The stairs are massive and extremely wide, like those of a temple. The wind whips at our hair and clothes. We were the only ones who had time to come. Everyone else either had work or assignments or family shit, leaving me alone with Joseph.

He’s pretty quiet the whole time, his attention more focused on the various displays. Historical artefacts, a room just filled with old instruments, marine animals stuck in little jars filled with formaldehyde. It’s not the most interesting thing, it’s not World War Two or World War One but I’m happy just to walk around him while he reads everything. Just being around him is pleasant. 

And I just like the atmosphere, impressive marble floors with little rooms tucked everywhere. Almost like secret rooms and it awakens something almost childlike in me. Childlike curiosity and glee. And from that point, I take more interest in looking at what’s on display.

While we’re in a room of butterfly displays. Their tiny little bodies pinned to vertical boards in glass vitrines. I wander over to read one but Joseph has other ideas. He quickly grabs me and drags me behind one of them.

A dork walks into the room. Heavy framed glasses, a T-shirt and thin and lanky. He slows his pace and turns to look at a vitrine, his back facing us.

He studies whatever is in it. I think dead Locusts. I can hear Joseph’s bated breathing and my own while he still clutches me. Far, far too close to me but I don’t complain. And that probably just makes it even harder to hide from his ex.

It’s deadly silent and we just wait for him to turn around, look at the green and blue butterflies and see us. But he soon leaves. And the moment he’s out of the room, I finally let myself relax as good as I can, with Joseph still touching me.

“Who the fuck was that.”

“One of my exes. The annoying Left Communist.”

“Oh. Another leftist” and I cringe.

“I’m literally a leftist.”  
  
“Yeah but you’re different.”

“How?” he looks at me incredulously, “I’m just as bad as other leftists.”

“First of all. You’re not a degenerate or a stupid faggot SJW. You’re a statist just like me. The whole political culture war revolves around us. Jewish communism and Fascism. Like yin and yang.”

“Comrade I can assure you that I’m a “faggot” too.”

I just shrug and shuffle slightly closer to him. Well, we were already very close. I don’t say anything but he slowly starts to lean in. It’s soft and gentle but just when I let myself enjoy it, it’s over.

But luckily we kiss a few more times until we hear steps on the cold marble and then we quickly separate. I’m not engaging in faggotry in front of others. I’d rather die.   
So we just end up wandering through the museum for another hour, my face and lips burning where he touched me.  
And soon we’re on the move again. I don’t even properly look at any of the exhibits. I just follow him around like a puppy, my head completely in the clouds. I can let myself have just this one nice thing once. Just this one sliver of degeneracy and no one ever has to know.

We walk through the gift shop, the last room before the entrance hall of the museum. Cheap souvenirs and knickknacks sit proudly on the shelves, just waiting to be bought.  
I drift over to some of them. Small metal figurines of iconic landmarks. The pyramids of Giza, the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China and then I spot the Brandenburger Tor. I quickly pick it up and feel it in my hands, it’s surprisingly light so it’s probably not metal but it’s still really nice. I check the price. Only 5 dollars.  
  
I reach to grab my wallet but I feel nothing apart from my car keys. And then it dawns on me, I left the thing in my glovebox since I wasn’t paying attention. And he notices. He drifts over to me.  
“Vhat a load of capitalist consumerism. Peddling you junk but if you vant me too, I can buy it for you.”  
  
I hesitate for a second. I know it’s degenerate and I probably shouldn’t do it but I’m not strong enough.  
“Okay sure.”

He plucks the figurine from my hand and walks over to the cashier. He quickly pays and then we leave the gift store.

“Here you comrade.” and he hands me it, a small smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. I die right then and there on the spot and smile back at him. I can feel my neck starting to go red, a light blush. Horrible. 

And together we walk outside and down the stairs. I sit down on one of them and he joins me. I pull out a small bag of chips, the foil crinkling in the strong wind.  
It has barely any chips but I offer him some anyway.

“Oh. Нет. No thank you. I don’t vant to steal your food.”

“No, I’m fine. You can have some plus I thought all of you commies wanted to redistribute food.”

“Hmm. Fair enough comrade.” and he takes a single chip, thoughtfully crunching on it while staring out at the city.

“Comrade do you ever vander if…” and he just cuts off.

“If what?”  
  
“Do you ever think it’ll get better? Like society-wise. Like politically. I know that because of material conditions and the immortal science of Marxist Leninism that we’ll eventually have the revolution but sometimes I vorry it vill never come.

I zone out halfway through, just listening to the sound of his voice and his thick Russian accent. For a second, the thought that I might be infatuated with him flashes across my mind but I suppress it.

“Don’t worry it will all be fine.”

“Mhm,'' and the man of few words shuffles closer to me and I feel his arm wrap around me. I can’t help but rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in his smell a little bit. Oddly calming and I’m surprised I’m not freaking out. He smells good. Woody but also like soap. Far better than a woman ever could.

“Joseph are we dating? Like was this a date?”  
  
“Vhatever is comfortable for you. I don’t vant to freak you out. Either vay is good. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I hate gay people,” I announce very clearly. He doesn’t reply but we sit there for a bit longer. And I don't even freak out when strangers walk past us, up and down the stairs. This can fall into friend category behaviour. We’re just friends. Everyone thinks we’re just friends. Nothing more to it.

Just before he leaves towards the train station and just before I climb into my car, I give him a small kiss on the cheek. And he gives me a kind smile.

“Vell that vas a very nice trip.”

“Yeah. Yeah. It was.” and I climb into my car and he leaves.

On the drive home, I don’t know what to feel. I know this is really bad and that I have to make it stop before it gets even worse and I get sucked even more in. But my brain is in a fog of bliss. Happy dreamy bliss.

Until I get home and reality crashes back in. Voicemails from my mother, university work which I’ve intentionally tried to forget and all this other fucking garbage. All happiness and bliss shatter and I spend the rest of the afternoon and night on the verge of tears. It’s painful agony and it makes me want to die but not in a suicidal way. And then I go to bed, white noise playing so I even have a possibility of sleeping. 

And I just think of Joseph and wish he was lying next to me in bed and spooning me. It’s degenerate but I just need comfort so badly. It makes me want to cry. The idea that I need affection from a fucking man, just makes me feel even worse. Like a horrible anxiety building pit, something that would make me stay awake for two hours, rolling in bed and struggling to sleep. But then I pass out for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why I made leftcom his ex, It was originally trotskyist but then realised that had bad implications and I'm dense
> 
> Poggers. Also hope this turns out alright, I havnt felt an emotion since 2014


	8. Porn

I mill around Joseph’s small apartment aimlessly. It’s completely packed with people from university and our club and so on. And just with every other party, I go to, I end up in the corner just eating chips or something. Not because I can’t socialise, I can. But simply because I don’t want to. No one comes to talk to me. Not even Joseph comes to talk to me but catch him constantly throwing glances in my direction.

And as much as I want to, I don’t join his conversations. I’m not letting the faggot tempt me again. I hate him and I’m in the den of my worst enemy.

Over time, guests start to trickle home, his apartment slowly but steadily emptying. Predictably, I’m the last person to leave. I walk to grab my coat, quickly pulling it on. I quickly scan his apartment, he’s busy throwing some shit in the trash in the kitchen. I can finally slip out without him noticing. My hand reaches for the doorknob and I open the door.    
  
“Hey, James. Do you vant to help me clean up?”

I panic internally. I have to get out of this fucking apartment before I do something bad or stupid but I also can’t say no.   
“Uh sure. I guess.” and I turn around, taking my coat off.

We spend the next 20 minutes picking up trash and trying to get soda out of his carpet. Neither of us says a word, near pure silence apart from the soviet tunes playing quietly in the background somewhere. I hate them but I don’t say anything.

Once we’re done, I sit down on the sofa while he leans against the counter island, directly opposite me and only a few 5 metres away. He looks at me and I shift on his sofa nervously.

“Thank you comrade for helping. Many hands make light vork right?”   
  
“Yes that’s great but can I leave now.” and I quickly stand up, ready to make a beeline for the exit.   
  
“Go vhenever you vant to comrade.” he smiles and shrugs. It’s another one of those eye twinkling smiles. It’s short and brief but it draws me in. As much as this is degeneracy, there’s just something I don’t want to miss out on.

Instead of sitting back down, I drift towards him. Dangerously close to him.   
“I think I will stay.”   
  
“Comrade you can leave if you vant. Literally no pressure. I von’t take it personally.”   
  
“I’ve made up my mind.” and I shrug.   
  
“Vell I’m not complaining. You are nice company.”   
  
“I am not nice company. I barely said anything today and I barely talked to you today.”   
  
“That’s true. Vhat I was saying is that you are nice to be around.”   
  
“That’s a load of shit as well. Literally, we spent the first few months arguing and bickering so you’re bullshitting.”   
  
He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.   
“Ради ебли. Okay. Fine comrade. Vhat I am trying to say is that I like you. As in romantically. And therefore I like to spend time vith you if that is not crystal clear.”   
  
“Yeah, no shit you like me. You kissed me.”   
  
“Да. That is true but it takes two to tango. You vere kissing me as well. I have not forgotten.”   
  
“Well neither have I.”   
  
“Please just shut up.”   
  
“No. I’m not even gay.”   
  
“Comrade that is a lie. You have literally kissed me before. Multiple times as vell”   
  
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up. I hate you.”   
  
“You vill have to make me.”   
  
“Maybe I fucking will, you faggot.”   
  
“Uh-huh?” he hums smugly and I’m fuming. I hate it so fucking much. In a moment of insanity, I grab his lapels and roughly press my mouth on his. He tries to deepen the kiss but I quickly end it. I’m not fucking gay.

I feel his arms wrap around me, pulling me even closer. God, I hate him so much but I let him do it. He just holds me dangerously close while my face cycles through various shades of red.

“Hrm so much for not being gay comrade.”

“Fuck you. I mean it. I’m not gay.” but I fucking laugh. What is wrong with me.

And then we kiss again. And we don’t fucking stop. I know I should go home. I really should but instead of doing anything about it, I run my fingers through his hair, knocking off his ushanka. The faggot has put me under some spell as his hands travel across my body, his hands working his way to my lower back and up under my now untucked shirt. And where his calloused fingers touch my skin, I nearly die. But it feels so fucking good. It’s so fucking good and I just want more. 

And he gives it. He rotates me so I’m pressed to the counter, our lips still locked. 

In the back of my mind is the lingering fear and the growing tightness in my slacks which he’s applying pressure too. A horrible combination of my fascination for masculinity and the abject terror of the degeneracy. But at least I’m not gay. I’m just seduced by cultural bolshevism. And even if I wasn’t, this is just gay behaviour, it doesn’t make me gay. It’s just one time. I can allow myself one good thing. No one ever has to know and no one ever will.

And these thoughts swirl through my brain. Even when we keep making out. Even when he peppers kisses along my neck and jawbone which make me let out horrible noises. But the thoughts quickly die down when he hoists me onto the counter like he’s going to fuck me. And the thought flashes across my coomer brain, that I wouldn’t mind it. In fact, I’d enjoy it and I want it.

But predictably he doesn’t fuck me and I instead drape my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his hips.

And a little while later, after a lot more touching, he grips onto me and lifts me slightly. I cling to him.

“Don’t vorry comrade. I von’t drop you,” he says, almost tenderly.    
  
And he stumbles into his room, my legs wrapped around him like I’m a koala. If I weren’t so fucking horny, I would laugh at how ridiculous is. 

It doesn’t help that I’m also trying to kiss him especially when he fumbles with the door handle. But he manages to get it open and gently drop me on the bed before I slip out of his grasp and fall. I quickly look around his room. It’s as I expected; soviet propaganda posters, bookshelves and the sound of his belt unbuckling. 

I follow suit, quickly pulling off my pants and throwing them on his floor.

“Whatever we do no penetration alright?” 

“Yeah no shit comrade that takes preparation”

“Good.”

He sits down opposite me, cross-legged and still in his underwear. I admire his thighs, they’re large and pretty hairy. And he has a visible erection. I mean so do I.

“Can I suck your dick?”   
  
“Vhat?” he says, slightly taken aback.

“Can I suck your damn dick?”

“Sure.”

And I shuffle over to him, pull his underwear down slightly and just fucking inhale this dick. I have no idea what I'm doing so I just try my best. 

Clearly, I’m not doing a good enough job as he interrupts me a few minutes later but I don’t take it personally.

“Comrade that’s enough,” he says, humour evident in his voice.

And I laugh. And I don’t know why.

“Get n your knees. Bend over.”

“I said no penetration.”

“Yeah. Don’t vorry comrade. This is going between your thighs and I can jerk you off.”

And I quickly get on all fours, my hands sinking into the soft sheets. I scan his bookshelf while he lubes up. Far, far too many copies of the manifesto. And some very interesting history books. One of them catches my eyes.

“Joseph, can I borrow one of your books? It looks interesting.”   


“Mhm.” 

And then I feel his hands on my hips. His calloused fingers run along my bare skin and I shiver.   
I stick my ass out in the most whorish sexually appealing way I can, anything to get him to fuck me. What is wrong with me? What have I degenerated down to?

“Vhich one?”   
  
“The Stalingrad one right at the end of the second row.”

I feel his dick slide in between my thighs. I let out a sigh at the cold lube on my sensitive thighs. But I quickly close them a bit for extra friction. 

“Sure comrade. Just make sure not spill anything like vater on it.”  
He starts into trust them, quickly gaining momentum.

His hand formerly on my butt wanders to my dick and he starts to jerk me off. And he’s surprisingly good at it too, eliciting horrible little moans from me. He’s definitely done this before.

I hear him breathing loudly, letting out the occasional groan as he continues to fuck into my now slippery thighs.

The friction from his dick and other… parts of my body, in combination with his rhythmic hands. 

I come embarrassingly early and all over his hands. He doesn't seem to care and instead just pushes my head into the pillow, with his hand, still covered in my cum, before fucking back into my thighs. And I swear he gets a bit of it in my hair too but I’m far too gone to care. 

And it's not long before he comes on those also. I just flop down onto his bed, boneless. I hope he won't mind that I got the sheets dirty. I'm exhausted, spent and in a weird state of bliss. I lost my virginity but I also didn't. It was degenerate but it wasn't. My brain is too dead to fight back against the degenerate thoughts.

He stands up and throws me a dirty t-shirt so I can clean up. But I don’t do anything. I just keep laying there on my stomach. I feel the bed move as he lowers himself on it next to me.

“You are useless. Typical lazy capitalist” he says, but there’s no venom in his voice.

“Mhm. I’m not a capitalist, I’m a third positionist.” I say and turn around onto my back, looking up at him with half-closed eyes. He gives me a quick kiss before wiping his cum off.

“You're very uh cute as they say, comrade.”

“Hmm? Thank you.”

I feel him wrap his arms around me and I settle into it. A quick kiss from him, and it doesn’t take long before I’m asleep.

The first thing I see when I wake up is the North Korean flag on his ceiling. I squint to get a proper look, my eyes still blurry from sleep. And then the first thing I feel is someone’s heavy arm draped across my me and that I’m nestled into his chest.

And then I realise I'm naked and slightly crusty. And he’s naked too. And then I fucking realise. I realise what I did, in a haze of lust and degeneracy. My brain rotted completely by my dick, going against everything I believe. I just think of what Himmler would have thought of me. Instead of contributing to the growth of the Aryan population, I’m letting a man cum all over my thighs. 

I have gone far too far. 

Panic and shame courses through my veins. An endless barrage of agony and regret. And i feel it welling up in my stomach and chest like black tar, sucking me in and submerging me in a bit of darkness, suffocation and agony. Like I can’t properly breathe.

I untangle myself from him, peacefully sleeping and grab my clothes. I’m dressed and out the door in record time. I’m not fucking gay but what I did was too far. I went too far. I indulged and this is what fucking happened. And if there’s one thing just as bad as degeneracy, it's indulgence and decadence. It’s abandoning everyone one of your values just so some man can fuck you.

Like a cheap whore.  
Like an AIDs riddled faggot.

I had gone too far. I had gone against everything I believed and now I’m paying the price. I’m never fucking doing this again.

I walk down the steps outside of his house, power walking at first but by the time I get to the car, I’m jogging and my heart rate is overwhelming. I throw myself into my car but don’t start it.   
My hands just sit on the steering wheel, the sweat making horrible sticky noises.  
All I can think about is joseph. Joseph. Joseph. Joseph.

On an impulse, I quickly whip out my phone and send him a text.

“Sorry. Had to go :)”

I try to drive home but the more about it, the more the tears prick up in the corner of my eyes and the worse the anxiety gets. So bad that it makes me want to throw up. I pull over when I feel the rising bile in the back of my throat. I pull over at the nearest KFC and quickly walk into the toilets with no regard for the hordes of black people or that I hadn’t paid so I’m not meant to use the bathrooms.   
And I throw up last night's dinner. 

When I get home I block everyone from the LARP group, leave the discord server and I even block Joseph’s number. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t associate with them anymore.

And then I turn on the Xbox. Halfway through an R6 match, I start to cry. And I don’t stop myself. I just keep crying and crying.

  
  


I wake up the next morning feeling like actual shit. I slept like hell thanks to my anxiety and I’m exhausted. And I think about what I did the night before and I know that I have no one to blame but myself.

And the only solution to this fucking mess I had gotten myself into is to never talk to him again. Forget he existed. Completely wipe him from my mind. I will never talk to him again. But I also have to completely forget the rest of the group as well. Everyone who was nice to me and not so nice but still tolerated me.

And I think I realise something after a couple of days while I’m on a night walk. I’m dressed extremely sloppily so the thought of anyone seeing me, mortifies me. But the moon is full and shines like a beacon, it’s light reflecting off the white weatherboards of people’s houses and their white cars.

The sky is midnight blue like the sun is about to rise and it’s confusing the birds who have slowly started their morning calls or perhaps that’s because it's 4 am.

I just wander the streets, the last few days really have been something. And I think about Joseph and the others. And then it dawns on me. I have sabotaged my only chance at friendships and a relationship. Even if it’s with a man. At least he’s willing to give me genuine kindness and affection. It’s a low bar but no one does that.

Tears start to well up in the corner of my eyes. Regret about what I did (had some form of sex with him) and then it becomes self-pity and regret. But this time it’s regret about cutting everyone off. And what hurts, even more, is not the fact that I cut them all off but that I can’t go back. The idea of doing that makes my anxiety flare-up. But even worse, my pride. And that’s what hurts the most. 

And I think about the time Homonat pulled me aside, told me that he can be my wingman but I declined.

_ “Hey, sweetie. Have you ever heard of manly eros?” _

_ “What the fuck does that mean faggot.” _

_ “A good nazi can strike a blow but also caress. Blows against the jews and the communists and the homosexuals who are lustful. Manly eros is spiritual. As long as you’re striking against those who are a threat to our people and homeland, you can also caress behind closed doors. Male eros doesn’t make you gay…” _

_ “No, I think I’m fine. I’m not getting sucked into your faggy Grindr lifestyle.” _

_ “... Masculine, discreet, manly and fully compatible with being Aryan.” _

_ “Fuck off you perverted sodomite. Stop trying to convert me to your cult.” _

_ “Röhm was a good Aryan. He wasn’t a homosexual but he was attracted to men. He was manly and strong, unlike those faggots in Berlin.” he pleads. _

_ He grabs my arm but I swat away his hand. _

_ “And don’t fucking touch me either. Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t want anything to do with your kind. And I’m not fucking gay either.” _

And maybe he was right. All my values still line up with fascism apart from this one small thing. Sure it’s unnatural but I can’t do anything about it. No matter how hard I try, it doesn’t go away. Maybe it was because my dad is absent so I’m trying to find a male figure to replace him. I don’t even know anymore. It’s a war in my mind and I just want to stop thinking.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theory reader Homonat
> 
> Also I swear there will be a good ending...


	9. Miseryfest - Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homonat says some weird shit, literally no idea how to content warn for it but I swear its harmless, it's just 4chan shit, he does say the t slur twice but nothing transphobic, homonat says trans rights

**Commie  
**It takes me a while to wake up, James is gone and I can’t help but feel a little disappointed and hurt. I quickly check my phone.

“Sorry. Had to go :)”

Something about the constant homophobia and mixed signals hurt. It really really hurts. Kissing me one day and then rejection the next. And the worst part is that I like him.

And I know I do a shit job at hiding it when I turn up to our next meeting and James isn’t there. And Homonat quickly picks up on it.  
He forcefully invites himself to my house with a packet of biscuits, forces me to eat some and then hands me his bedazzled flask filled with vodka. I take a sip and then a few more. 

“So sweetie. What the fuck is up with you and James. Why the hell did he just disappear. Spill the tea sis.”

“I don’t vant to talk about it, comrade.”

“Darling you better tell me. This is the closest you’re ever gonna get to free therapy so you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I just sigh and take another sip.  
“Y’know the party at my house?”  
  
“Yeah?”

“Well, James stayed the night. And by that I mean we fucked and shit.”

“And how did that go, darling?”

“Well comrade, he did a runner as you yanks say. Told me sorry and that he had to go via text message. And then cut everyone else off.”

“Yeah I saw he had me blocked on Instagram” and he frowns “he’s going to miss out on pictures of my ass.”

“There are more important things than your ass comrade.”

“Literally not true.” and he clicks his clawed fingers. “Well anyway, back to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” and I sigh. “He asked me if ve vere dating. And I told him I didn’t mind since I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. And then he said he hated gay people so ve are not boyfriends.”

He reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder, his eyes full of pity.  
“Aw. I’m sure he still likes you. He just sounds like he has some issues he has to work on. I tried to convince him that you can be a gay nazi but he just called me a sodomite and a pervert. But I’m sure if he went that far with you, like that you fucked him, he has to like you. You should try to get in contact with him.”

I sigh painfully.  
“Vell I don’t know if he vants to comrade.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. I’ve talked to a lot of his kind. Reminds of this guy I used to know on Discord. He was pretty well known but I still ended up masturbating with him in a discord call and managed to convince him to go fuck men in real life and live his best gay life. I feel bad for ruining the relationship between him and his girlfriend but he had a lot of issues” and then he hums thoughtfully as if he were retelling fond stories of his past life.

“I just don’t know comrade.”

“I think he’s at least gay. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And he’s not the only queer Nazi. EsoFash is aroace but probably has a piss kink. I don’t know how that works more power to him. What an icon.”

“How do you know that. Vait no. I don’t vant to know. I just don’t know vhat to say about all of this. All of the shit vith James.”

“Yeah, I understand that sweetie. I can tell you more stories about queer Nazis if that makes you feel better.”

I sigh again.  
“Sure go ahead.”

“Well there are the diaper trannies from /lgbt/ and their whole schtick is that they wear diapers. I don't get it but trans rights. And I remember some fascist Discord server where they talked about Hitler’s fountain pen up their ass, like it was the same diaper trannies. Joseph, if Hitler died and left you one of his fountain pens. Would you stick it up your ass?” 

“No. Also, comrade, I think you should go home.”

“Aw. At least let me stay the night sweetie” he implores me with big eyes.

“Thank you for the advice but go home.”

  
And he does as I say. When I’ve forced him out of the door, I wander back into the living room and flop myself in front of the TV.

Some soccer game is playing and I don’t really care, I just retreat into my thoughts. I start comparing James to my exes. Like Jay, the Ancom. Qi had quer issues but I don’t want to think or speak ill of the dead. My LeftCom ex was just fucking annoying but at least he read theory. And there was the Maoist who was a rebound but she was borderline insane. But there’s been crazier Maoists like modern-day purges reminiscent of Jonestown. And at least Comrade Mao was based. Bordiga and Bookchin were a load of shit at best, and bourgeois revisionism at worst.

Something inside of me is pissed off at him and slightly resentful at all the trouble he’s put me through. But at the same time, I feel like I’m mourning the chance of a missed shot. A shot that could have gone somewhere. And I miss him. He was a welcome part of our group for the last few months. Even though he was a dick sometimes, I know that deep down somewhere he just wanted to spend time with us. Especially me. And he clung to me. Well not really but he constantly sought me out and I sought him out. And we kissed a couple of times and he was a sweetheart, all soft and kind under that hard shell. 

And those times we slept together, while he was asleep, it was genuinely nice to see that hard shell dissipate and he’d smile and relax and be himself. Instead of highly strung, volatile and confrontational. 

I sit in my thoughts for another 20 minutes, shower quickly and then head to bed. But instead of sleeping, I pull out my old copy of State and Revolution. I churn through a chapter quickly, the familiarity of the words comforting. I’ve probably read this so many times. I quickly fall asleep with it. I find it in the morning, lying in bed with some of its pages depressingly doggy eared.

**Nazi  
**And a couple of weeks, I’m doing better. But also not. All I have is my friends on discord, and I join their calls and watch them play videogames while not talking. I can’t even talk to them about my feelings or what I did. I know that’d never go down well with them and I don’t want to be accused of abandoning our cause. Forsaking fascism just for a quick fuck. And the fact that I can’t talk about it makes it even worse, that makes it hurt even more.

And the isolation is going to my head. I feel completely alone especially with this secret I carry. I feel like I'm going insane. But I just bite the bullet. Nothing I can do. I just continue functioning since I’m not a weak pathetic piece of shit. 

I’m sitting at my desk eating some low effort sandwich I whipped up. And the manly eros shit wanders back into my brain. I still think about it a lot. And Joseph. And I admit I’ve probably wanked to the thought of him a couple of times but I don’t tell anyone. I know I shouldn’t be doing that for a multitude of reasons but I do it anyway. 

Since I’ve become a shell of what I used to be. I used to be the paragon of Aryan values and now I think about gay sex and men. Well, Joseph. And it’s rotted my brain. And I hate him for what he did to me but I know it’s not his fault. If anything, it’s my fault since I could have stopped at any stage and I nearly did. Well, now I have. And I would have been fine. My brain would have not been rotted by the very shit that is destroying the west.

The constant war living rent-free in my mind. I have done some awful shit which I shouldn’t have done but I also want to get back in contact with Joseph. But will I? No, I will fucking not.

Somewhere during my thought process, I’ve put my elbows on the table and I just sigh, my head in my hands. And I swear I’m about to cry again. I don’t know what hurts the most. The regret of what I did? The fact that I feel like I can’t go back? The conflict of the two? But whatever it is, it hurts inside my chest. An unbearable pain and it sits there. And it’s sat there for so fucking long.

Usually, I can’t cry but tears start seeping out of the corner of my eyes, this is all too much. I can’t handle this and university on top of it. And I just start crying silently. And all I want is a hug. All I want is to be held but that’s not an option anymore.

I just leave my half-eaten sandwich where it was on its plate and wander over to turn on my Xbox. I’ve been playing a lot more games than I used to in the past and I know exactly why. It’s a coping mechanism. This is some stupid consoomer shit. I am everything I try to oppose and that makes me cry even more.

So I try and watch some heterosexual porn. I just hope they’re married couples but I know they never are. And all of that just makes me cry even more. I’m anti-premarital sex, anti-porn and I’m trying to beat my meat to it. And the worst thing is, I only manage to get off to it because I project onto the woman getting fucked. I switch to femboys midway, that does it somehow and it’s not gay. If it looks like a woman, then it’s not gay. That’s just how it works.

After I cum, I clean up and go cry into my pillow, sprawled out on my stomach. I’m at my fucking limit. I’m so tired of this all. It’s so fucking draining to be in constant pain. I just want to be loved. And horrible fucking thoughts creep into my mind. Him holding my hand. And the idea of that brings me immense longing but also anguish. I just want to be loved. And I want him to love me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I was gonna put something funny and witty in here but I forgot what it is.
> 
> But I was not the person who gave EsoFash a piss kink, just a heads up


	10. Chapter Ten

I walk around on the uni campus, the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I can’t help but smile. A small sliver of genuine happiness in all this loneliness, confusion and pain. 

I end up drifting to the library in the hunt of a certain book I need. Shelves stretch out before me and behind me with books. I run my fingers along their spines, checking the titles for the one specific fucking book I need. And then I see him through the gap in the shelves, his red jacket unmistakable. I see him move, walking slowly towards the aisle I’m in. I duck behind a shelf but it’s too late and does nothing.

“Comrade?” he asks, uncertainty in his voice like he’s trying to talk to a spooked animal.

“Please don’t talk to me. Fuck off” I tell him, completely deadpan. But I still move towards him until he’s only half a metre away.

“You should join us again comrade. The vhole group misses you.”

I just laugh.  
“Bullshit. I was fucking awful to all of them. Plus I don’t want to associate with your kind anymore.”

“Please?” 

“No. Fuck off. Don’t talk to me.”

“Oh.” and he turns around and starts to leave.

And something shatters in me. I feel like I've kicked a puppy and pissed away my last chance at happiness. But still, the war inside of my brain wages on. To talk to him or not to talk to him. And in those 5 seconds, I speedrun every thought and inner conflict of the last few weeks.

“Don’t.”

He turns around.  
“Vhat?”

“I’m going to the group.”

“Oh.” uncertain at first, but this time he smiles.

“That’s great to hear, comrade.”

“And I miss you. But no homo.”

Something in my brain dead mind makes me wander towards him and wrap my arms around him. And he does nothing but tenderly hold me in his arms while I try my best not to cry. He pats my back slowly. It’s the first time I’ve had a hug in a long long time.

Together, I end up sitting with him in his history lecture for two hours. His professor rambles, pointing at slideshows while Joseph frantically scribbles. Sure I’m not meant to be there but I don’t regret it. Before I leave, I pull him aside into an empty corridor.

“I don’t know how to say this but I’m sorry. And I genuinely like you.” and I pull him in for a kiss, right on the lips.

He looks at me surprised for a second like he didn’t expect that I wanted anything to do with him. But quickly kisses me back, before leaving to go to his next class which was starting in 10 minutes. I head home, happy.

It almost feels like I have a boyfriend or something. Like I'm not completely alone. But that’s degenerate. But it’s what makes me happy. So I really really don’t know anymore. And what will my dad say if I ever have to tell him? Or my mother? Or all my fascist friends?

I wish I had joined him in his second lecture as well but I had to go home. So I just wistfully make my way to where my car park is parked. Maybe shit is going to be alright. And that’s when I make my mind up. I’ve already gone so far, I have nothing left to lose so I might as well go all the fucking way.   
That being actual sex. It's a horrible idea. It's degenerate. But I'm in too deep anyway. And I’ve thought about it for far too long, fantasies living rent-free in my mind. So I might as well. 

I don’t go through with my plan when I visit his house the next day but instead, I bring him some cake. I hadn’t baked in a long time and it usually brings up memories of my mother but I still brought him a slice of cake and one for myself.

As an apology. Because I feel like a dick for all of this.

I knock on his door and he opens it, smiling when he sees me and he lets me in. I quickly navigate to the couch and sit down whereas he leans against the kitchen counter. It’s only 5 or so metres away.

“Hello, comrade.”

“Hi, Joseph. I just came around to say sorry. I can’t mind read and I didn’t do it on purpose and shit but I probably hurt you, at least a bit. And I didn’t do it on purpose but that’s more of an explanation of an excuse. And I’m genuinely sorry.” I say, rambling. I refuse to look up at him and I feel myself being stared down by him.

“I understand.” and he grunts. “Homonat came over and he tried to convince me you have issues. Vhich he’s probably right about.” but there’s something lighthearted and playful in his tone. I finally look up at him and he’s smiling.

I let out a laugh.  
“Yeah, he’s probably right.”

“If ve vant to make this thing work out, I don’t think blocking each other and disappearing for a few veeks because ve did something that’s perhaps not particularly heterosexual is a good idea.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. And I’m sorry for giving you all this grief. I don’t really know how to say this but to make up for it, I brought cake?”  
  
“Vhat type?” and he smiles at me. I give him a soft smile back.

“Uh, this german shit. Bienenstich. Bee sting.” and I grab the Tupperware with the cake in it and crack it open. It’s two sheets of yeast dough with cream in between the two and caramelised almonds on top. The cream has slightly smeared everywhere but there’s nothing we can do about that.

Together we eat in relative silence, enjoying the cake. After he’s finished, he puts his plate on the countertop. The ceramic clangs loudly on the stone surface.

“I didn’t know you could bake comrade.”

“Yeah. I haven’t done it in a while but my mother taught me.”

“Yeah. Vhat’s your mother like?” 

“She’s alright” but the grimace on my face tells another story so he doesn’t press further.

We chat a bit more, over harmless life shit and then I head home, packing up the Tupperware box. 

And before I step outside the door, I lean in for a kiss and place it right on his cheek. Anything else at the moment feels to degenerate. Too premarital. He leans in as well, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me in. This time he gives me a proper kiss, one on the lips.

“Comrade I hope in the future you von’t freak out about degeneracy. Alright? Ve can take it very slow though. If you need that.”

I smile at him.  
“Sounds like a plan. And are we a thing now?”

“It’s vhat I vant but is it vhat you vant?”

I lean in for a kiss.  
“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this turned out alright, it's 4.49am rn and I'm taking psychic damage from life (not from the US elections tho since I'm not a yank)


	11. Porn 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn 2

He grabs me and presses me against the wall. It catches me by surprise and knocks the breath out of me but that just makes it hotter. And soon his lips are on mine again, wet and hot but I don’t care. I don't want to make it stop. I should make it stop but I can always think about that tomorrow. Plus I told him I wouldn’t freak out.

We were meant to be watching a documentary with the gang. But instead, Joseph is palming my crotch in Posadist’s kitchen while I moan into his mouth. But I had sort of planned this. I had prepared for an evening of fun. I had to google how to do that shit. I was going to make sure I get fucked. A lot of googling about the mechanics of gay sex and scouring 4chan boards. 

“Comrade you are so needy.”

I let out other lewd noise, desperately touch starved.  
“Yeah. Touch starved. I haven't felt the touch of a woman in so long… well actually ever.”

“Vell I hope the touch of a man is good enough,” he says, humour hidden somewhere in his voice, behind all the arousal.

“Can we leave? Like, go home.”

“Sure” and he suddenly steps back, leaving me exposed in a sense. His whole body was pressed against me, firm and warm. But it’s gone now and it feels so wrong.

But he just pulls out his phone.  
“Vill send short message telling Posadist ve vent home. You vere throwing up or something.”

“They’ll never fucking believe that.”  
But he just shrugs.

“Vho cares.”

And soon we’re on our way home, to my apartment this time. And it’s hell driving. Too horny. Too affected. And I can tell he’s not handling it much better as he leans over to tempt me into another deep kiss the moment I turn off the ignition.

“Joseph, let’s actually go inside.”

“Oh. Shit. Right.” and we quickly break off and clamber into my apartment.

When I switch the lights on, it’s a fucking mess.

Shit.

Unwashed dishes, dirty laundry, bags of Doritos and a bust of Mussolini on my bookshelf. It’s a fucking pigsty and I nearly die right then and there, mortified and embarrassed. But he doesn't seem to notice or if he does he doesn’t care.

“Vhere is your bedroom.”

And that’s how we both end up on my bed in various states of undress with him sucking bruises into my soft Aryan skin while my framed photograph of Hitler, hanging above my bed, watches us.  
He straddled me. I think that’s the right word. But his knees are either side of my hips and his hands next to my head and his lips on mine. But there’s too much space between our bodies. But that luckily fixes itself quickly. But eventually, we break apart.

And he’s a bit surprised when I tell him I came prepared, one eyebrow quirking up as he opens the lube. 

“Vhy?” he asks, curiously.  
But I understand why he’s confused. I freaked out at thighfucking so being fucked up the ass is even more out of the realm of possibility.

“Because I wanted to.”

And that’s true. It's because I want validation and faux-affection from a man. And I'll do anything for it even if that means premeditated degeneracy. Or maybe it’s the debauched thoughts I have about him in the shower which I can’t get rid of. Or the dreams where he fucks me in his bed again.

And in my defence, we’re both sitting naked on my bed and he looks impressive. My leaders of the past would have approved if he weren’t a Slav. That is a true man’s physique and I can objectively appreciate it. But I also want to feel it. Feel the ripples in his back and have him on top of me.

This is the point of no return. This is where all my fantasising about him kissing me and fucking me has led to. 

“James?”

“Huh?” and I look up at him.

“You vere lost in thought.”

“Yeah, no shit. I was thinking about how this is the last point of no return. I can back out now and still retain my chastity and heterosexuality. Or I can give in. Give into my degenerate thoughts and let you fuck me like a rag doll.”

“Mhm,” and he just nods.

“Vell if you are not comfortable, I can go now. I von’t be mad or anything. It’s up to you.”

“I’m horny. Just fuck me already you useless faggot.”

“Alright comrade.” he chuckles, his lips careening into mine.  
  


I once stuck my finger up there in the shower and it felt good. Really good. Apart from when I felt horrible afterwards. It’s like that but better and with more than one finger and he knows what he’s doing.

But I know it’s hell for him, his fingers up my ass, hitting all the right spots while he’s getting zero release. But it doesn’t stay like that for long. He finally pulls his fingers out and I let out a horrible needy noise, looking up at him.

“So comrade, how do you vant do it? I just vant to make sure you are comfortable since you usually freak out vith this sort of stuff…”

“Under the sheets so I pretend we’re an old married couple which makes it less degenerate. missionary. Also so Hitler can't see it.

He snorts and crawls over to me, slightly leaning over me, like he’s about to stick it in. I just watch him slowly jacking off while he starts to speak.  
“Uh, comrade do you vant to remove the Hitler off the vall. That might be a good idea” he says, quickly scanning my room.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

And together we quickly remove the Hitler photo and flip the Evola photograph face down on my dresser. While I walk past my mini altar with the incense sticks, I quickly apologise to the Gods, out loud, for what I’m about to do.

Joseph looks at me, slightly perplexed but also clearly horny and desperate for a release. He’d probably say something about religion being the opium for the masses or some shit but we’re both just trying to get laid.

“I svear you’re trying to blue ball me this vhole time.”  
And he slides it in. And god is it weird but good. He lets me adjust before starting to fuck into me, his weight on top of me is soothing and he does it so gently. Like he cares. And somewhere deep inside of me, that makes me want to cry. 

In between the horrible perverted noises and the intense pleasure, I can’t help but explain to him it’s because I can’t let Hitler see me taking Slav’s dick up my ass while he tried to exterminate the gays and the Slavs. I don’t know if he was listening but he could probably guess anyway.

But after that, I just focus on enjoying it, my legs wrapped around him and my fingers digging into his back.

I let him finish in me without regrets, my mind stuck in my own haze of post-nut bliss, in the white clouds. Sure I’ll be all crusty tomorrow but that concerns neither of us at the moment and we eventually fall asleep after cuddling. And this time I don’t freak out when I wake up. I just enjoy the moment and let myself be happy for a second.

Sure I fucked up but I’m too deep anyway, might as well enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic is reaching it's end, like very close to it but we will see, there will be good ending obviously


	12. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot what the end equivalent of a prologue is but here it is. Also it's from Tankie's POV

Together we navigate down the high street, manoeuvring through the heavy foot traffic and the people on Lime scooters. Even though he’s a bit shorter than me, he keeps up effortlessly with me.

And for a second, our hand brushes. I glance over at him. And of course, he acts like nothing has happened apart from the light pink tint on his cheeks. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it.

I take his hand. He doesn’t flinch or pull away even though we’re in public. And together we continue to walk.

“I think we should get something to eat.”

“Vhat?”

“I didn’t eat breakfast, just drank tea.” and he starts to steer me towards the MacDonalds nearby.

And that’s how we end up sitting in a small booth tucked away somewhere. He’s eating a burger with fries and I have nothing. Not because I don’t have money but simply because I’m not giving into capitalist bullshit plus I ate two hours ago.

And concerning the capitalist bullshit, I reach out and grab a fry. He registers it but just keeps eating.  
I take that as an invitation to take another one.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this. Vouldn’t this be veakness?”

He puts his burger down.  
“Actually not. Because you didn’t take it by force, I gave you permission to take from my property. Therefore it doesn’t make me ‘weak’.” he says with a light twinkle in his eyes.

Later that night, we end up spread out on his sofa, the tv playing some shit in the background. And he’s just playing with my hair, pressed up against me in the tiny space.

“I’m just surprised you haven't hate-crimed me.”

“I would never hate crime you, even though you’re a faggot.” he says as his slender things travel through my hair.

“It takes one to know one comrade.”

“Well I’m not a faggot.” he says and then presses a soft kiss against my forehead.

“If I’m a faggot then so are you.”

“I’m not a homosexual. But you’re bisexual so that makes you a faggot.”

“Mhm sure. Vhatever helps you sleep at night.” and I wrap my arms around him. 

“Yes actually. Read theory, Joseph. I still like you and men but I’m not homosexual” he says smugly.

We only realise in the morning, when we wake up to the morning news blaring that we both dozed off on his couch. His clothes are wrinkled and his hair is dishevelled but I’m glad he doesn’t regret any of this. That he’s not freaking out over the so-called faggotry. 

It’s because he’s taken the manly eros shit on board in the last few weeks and months. So now he’s being homophobic, racist and bigoted with fresh vigour but he has far less guilt. So I don’t really know if that’s a win or not. But at least it lets me come over and cuddle with him on his couch and get up to a few other things.

Also, he just looks fucking cute. Adorably bleary. I do have uni classes today but I can make it there on time and still spend a bit more time with James. And so I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think someone mentioned somewhere that a relationship with a dude who's repressed as fuck would result in a never ending shitshow so I had originally planned to cut it short after they hanky panky the second time but I decided a happy ending was needed it so here it is.
> 
> If you wanna follow me on twitter, it's @anarchocopium (shameless self-promo). I don't know what I'll write after this, perhaps more authunity but I think that's all I have sitting around atm so we'll see. Or perhaps my own projects. I have written some other authunity here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507490/chapters/59160553 if you want that.
> 
> Also legit thank you so fucking much to everyone of you mfs who read this shit and left comments and bookmarked or god knows what, thank you so fucking much. Genuinely thank you so much. Y'all are legends. Thank you so fucking much.


End file.
